


Homegrown Crops of the Wasteland: A Gem Over the River - Chapter One

by Maple_Tartan



Series: Homegrown Crops of the Wasteland: The True North [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Island - Freeform, Montreal, chambly, fort, new settlement, ronto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 11:23:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10661553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maple_Tartan/pseuds/Maple_Tartan
Summary: Centuries after the bombs were dropped over North America, a couple try to build a home away from the chaos of the city.Note: The rest of the story has been written, just being tweaked about. Thank you for the consideration.





	Homegrown Crops of the Wasteland: A Gem Over the River - Chapter One

A final primal grunt echoed around a cold decrepit basement of a post-apocalyptic city. There sat a mother, holding her newborn tightly, as her love wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her tight. They both stared into the child’s eyes. To them, there was no basement, no chaos, no cold; nothing besides their beautiful baby boy. He cried and cried but all his parents felt was peace. The father cut the baby’s umbilical cord with his hunting knife and grabbed his pack while the mother swaddled the newborn against her chest. Baby in one hand, pistol in the other, the two of them left the basement to face the midday sun.

While the father strode a few meters ahead, ensuring they were not walking into some raiders, the mother continued to stare at her lovely baby. Every wrinkle and beautiful inch of him flooded memories of what brought them to this moment. 

The parents had been once part of a raider gang, as everyone was in this part of the wasteland. They caught each other's attention long ago, exchanging kind words between chems and gunshots. Things quickly became serious and when the mother found out she was pregnant, they were filled with joy and dread. A raider gang was no place for a child and they knew their boss would not just let them walk away from his grand schemes, but they tried anyway. The boss was surprisingly kind until they mentioned they planned on leaving. He had seen the child as a way of cementing his legacy as the group’s leader. He would be the founder of a grand raider gang, the child raised to take the mantle. The couple leaving was a betrayal to them all. The mother was nearly gutted right then and there until they apologized, bent the knee, and took on more responsibilities. However, this was not over.

Over the next few weeks, these soon-to-be parents hatched a plan. They had both decided to lay off the chems, for the child, to the joy of their comrades in arms. So, their way out was to poison the group’s chem supply. Slowly, they all started to die off. When the killing was done, the couple took the rest of the supplies and ran off. They headed to cross the river, away from the chaos, and start a new life somewhere else, anywhere else. However, while carefully picking their way through dilapidated buildings, the mother suddenly went into labour and they cowered in a basement.

Now, they walked along a bridge under the cover of the evening. A pink sunset sprawled across the sky. The baby was quiet for the first time in awhile and the couple walked together, hand in hand, pistol on hip.

“Anne, you ready for our grand adventure?” asked the father with a warm smile.

“Of course, as long as I have you two at my side.” she said, squeezing the boy.

“Speaking of us two, what are we gonna name the bugger? Malcolm Jr.?” he asked, smirking.

“Swallow your pride, hun. How about Sam.”

“Sounds lovely. It was in both our top fives.”

“I am ever the compromiser.”

“Yes, yes, yes.”

The two of them crossed the bridge and set up camp in one of the many decaying farmhouses. Malcolm had tossed some scrap wood into a pile and was now kneeling with his lighter, attempting to ignite the dry paper beneath. Meanwhile, Anne scoured the place, filling her pockets with anything of importance.

“We can’t live off scraps forever.” she said, presenting some ancient seeds to Malcolm.

“Not to rain on your parade, but I doubt we can grow anything from this century old dustbin.”

Anne rolled her eyes and dropped them in the fire. “I meant when we settle down proper. We’ve seen wild corn and the like, we ought to try farming something.”

“What do we know about farming? We could just live out here and make runs into the city when we’re low.”

“We came out here to get away from that place, we can’t go back and forth. Tomorrow, we find somewhere defensible.”

“Yes, but first, sleep.” The two of them laid tangled together, staring into the night sky through the barn’s broken ceiling as they slowly drifted to sleep. With the moon high in the sky, baby Sam decided to call out to it. Malcolm lurched awake, wildly panicking. He swiftly realized it was just the baby and looked to Anne, who was feigning a deep sleep. Pinching her nose, she opened her mouth and flipped him the bird. Giggling to himself, Malcolm rose to deal with the baby. 

He walked along the once asphalt road, now turned to dirt. Surrounding him were deteriorating wire fences with scattered crops within. Any crops from before the war had died long ago, either from the bombs or the new environment. What remained were the lucky few who mutated to survive. Patting the baby’s back, Malcolm looked at the struggling crops and thought about his future. Eventually, the baby belched and started falling back to sleep. Returning to camp, Malcolm swaddled him and laid him to rest, just as the sun’s glimmer shone over the horizon.

They continued their journey as they left the previous day, making slow progress along the road, surrounded by farms and empty countryside. Lucky for them, most of the dangerous wildlife resided in the dense forests further from the city. Their worst worry would be starving wolves or rabid bunnies.

Suddenly, they came upon a dense group of trees. Peering between the thick trunks, they could see a cobblestone wall in the distance.

“What could that be?” asked Anne.

“Let’s find out.” responded Malcolm, already ducking under a branch. 

Five minutes crunching through the dead forest, they discovered a massive fort. It was clearly from long before the Great War, having high walls of decaying stone rather than concrete. The two of them walked along them, Malcolm feeling the stones as they passed. The front door had metal studs along its wooden planks, its hinges creaking as it slowly swung open. After the outer wall, there was a small hallway with stairs to the ramparts on either side. The small hallway then opened up to a large courtyard. It was a large empty space of gravel. Except for small plaques littered on the walls and on stands.

Spending the day within its relatively secure walls, the couple investigated the fort. Reading from the plaques and such, they learned it had once been used to defend a territory against invaders hundreds of years ago, being eventually converted into a museum. They found old photos of the uniforms they wore and read of how they lived. The museum weaved a fascinating tale of heroism in the face of overwhelming odds, a place worthy of great defence.

“Maybe we should stay here.” said Anne, staring into the night sky, with Malcolm and the baby at her side.

“I was thinking the same thing.” said Malcolm, smiling before kissing his love on the cheek.

In the years to come, the dilapidated fort was slowly fortified. They raised their son within its walls, working on a small farm and fishing in the bay overlooked by the stone walls. Those from the city seeking refuge flocked to this sanctuary. With their numbers growing, so did their territory. Cultivating more and more land, they built walls of scrap at the edge of their farms, leaving the fort’s walls as a last resort. As people poured in, so did their knowledge. Enough wasteland know-how came through and they managed to build turrets along their scrap walls. Their increasing wealth attracted raiders and merchants in equal measures. The raiders never presented a united effort but remained a great enemy; progressively easier to defeat, with only a few close calls.

The once Fort Chambly came to be known simply as the Fort. Those who lived within its wondrous walls wore blue cloth, harkening to those who once lived on this land. The founding family came to be revered by the people. Sam was raised to one day take up the mantle as the leader, a day that would soon come. And when the time came, Sam lead his people into their first experience with their neighbour, Ronto. 


End file.
